Forty minutes later, I leave the class majorly disappointed because 1) I was panting far too heavily to get in even one “That’s what she said!” during the squeeze routine 2) my glutchas are totally killing me and 3) I smell like ball.

TUESDAY
Set aside time to answer the ton of fan emails I receive (ton = one every six months) because even though I am a huge internet star in Latvia, I still need the little people to keep me humble.

To WendiAarons.com,

Pretty helpful the article below. I simply stumbled upon your web page and desired to say that I’ve very favored learning your weblog posts. Any indicates I’ll be subscribing within your feed and I hope you publish after more quickly if you do better endeavors!!!

__

Dear Golden-Showers-Info.net,

Thank you so much for your email. Remember, keep reaching for the stars, my friend, and you just might catch a sparkle!

Best,

Wendi

PS: I don’t know what you were doing in that photo you attached, but you probably need antibiotics.

WEDNESDAY(Note: Wendi does not actually know what she did on this day, but there might have been some Benadryl involved.)

THURSDAY
At lunch, I tell my friend Jennifer that 18-year-old Dickens the Cat has always been happy being an indoor cat. Jennifer says this is because Dickens has “gone all Shawshank and shit and doesn’t know what life’s like on the outside.” I strongly disagree.

However, two days later, Dickens starts scratching at the door and frantically yowling to go out for the first time ever. I’m then shocked to find a jailhouse tat on her belly (“I ♥ Pussy”), a sharpened toothbrush next to her litter box and a clawed-out tunnel that starts in our dining room and ends in a Puerto Vallarta bait shop.

Therefore, because God knows the last thing I need is a feline prison riot on my hands, Dickens is now allowed 10-minutes of supervised time in the yard a day. But no cigs until she stops scratching the good couch.

FRIDAY AND SATURDAY(See Wednesday.)

SUNDAYPer our usual Sunday routine, my husband and I spend the morning relaxing, reading the paper and critiquing the local news reporters’ clothing choices. The boys happily play in the front yard.

Suddenly Jack runs inside and we sort of notice that he’s soaking wet. “That waterfall in the front yard is awesome!” he yells. “Glad to hear it,” I mutter, not looking up from the Target circular. “Now go play outside again.”

Ten minutes later, Sam bursts in the front door and he’s also completely wet. “Thanks for the fountain, you guys!” he laughs. “It’s so fun!”

Ten more minutes later, my husband finally says, “Why do people keep honking when they drive by our house? And do you hear water running? Maybe we should go take a look at what’s going on—right after we talk about that horrible safari jacket the weather lady’s trying to pull off. Oh, NO, baby! You look like a demented Girl Scout!”

When we finally do stand up and go outside, what we find is a broken sprinkler head that’s been gushing water 20 feet into the sky for the past 30 minutes. Making our house look like the suburban Bellagio:

With all of the repair and clean up that then ensued, it turned out to be a big pain the Glutchas for me. But it also turned out to be The Best Sunday Ever for the boys.

At least, that’s what I told Dickens before I threw her in The Hole for puking on the warden’s favorite pair of suede boots. She’s never going to make parole and meet Tim Robbins in Mexico with that behavior.

You had a fun week! I’m rooting for Dickens’ ultimate breakout of Camp Aarons, cuz I think every cat deserves time out for good behavior in the tropics. And really, the pussy events are non-stop down there.

I want to come to that new exercise class with you. Despite the fact that, like, we don’t actually know each other, I feel quite certain that we’d somehow be able to just share looks and *know* that’s what she said.

Oh, dear Wendi, where do I start? First off, you know I loves me some prison jokes!!! Almost choked on my cough drop I was laughing so hard (thanks for that, my son would’ve grown up with a fear of pharma). Secondly, I will be nice here and not make any comments that refer to both the ejaculating liquid in your yard and the purple balls you held between your thighs.

I am a bad mother – I was reading this out of the corner of the my eye while my daughter was explaining the tragedy of not having a Dr Seuss costume to wear to school tomorrow. Was I thinking “costume tragedy”? No. I was thinking “suburban Bellagio” and trying not to crack up. My attempts to look serious and concerned while trying not to laugh wound up turning my expression into a half smirk which now has my daughter convinced that I have no sympathy for the trials of her life. Which is true, but I didn’t want her to realize that for another 10 years or so.

Having talked this through, I can now see that it is All Your Fault, Wendi, and someday I will send my daughter’s therapy bills to you. Please let me know your mailing address, ‘kay?

I so envy your week and am very sorry you didn’t get to use your “that’s what she said” line! and sorry you smelled like . . . you know. Thanks for the laughs, I needed them.
p.s. Jack is totally rocking his peace shirt.

Mamabird clearly doesn’t realize the one of the upsides of having Bellagio fountains in your front yard is how easy it is to rinse off the smell of ball, without any pesky undressing or soap being involved. Really, a fabulous display of efficiency. No Benadryl fog for you, clearly!

Well, as a local Latvian (my dad and my grandparents came to the US when he was 5), I’ll admit to being your number #1 Fan – that is not a bogus claim. We are having a Black Swan screening at my house this weekend. Care to join us? You bring the popcorn.

Your life is so much funnier than mine. Each time I get the email telling me about a new post I tell myself not to read it. Laughing is still a very painful ordeal. One of these days I’ll learn to listen to myself 🙂 (Or the damn doctors could just get their shit together, operate already and make me better. I’ve resorted to crying randomly to shock them into action. It works.)

I am struck dumb. “Suburban Bellagio” indeed. I must ask — was there Benadryl on Sunday? When our Weird Neighbor across the street put a post-hole digger through his water main on a Sunday evening (while wearing dress slacks, a white shirt and tie, no less) he stared at the resulting geyser for a full 15 minutes, not moving, until his wife came out and took charge of the situation. He had that Valiumed look, the one so prevalent among overeducated housewives in the 60’s.

Might want to save some of that Benadryl for when you get your water bill. You won’t want to remember paying that! But you did get an awesome picture of your son out of it so it may be worth it after all. Plus, you didn’t have to drive all the way to New Braunfels, pay to get into Schlitterbahn and drive home again just get see the look of pure joy on his face. You got to do it from home. So, maybe the water and repair bills equal out.

See if you can get that fountain to reappear at the holidays. You could create a light & water show, set to music, and probably make enough cash off of your Suburban Bellagio to cover your repair costs. And any fines incurred for tampering with the water lines.

Hubby thinks I’m totally nuts as I laugh at your posts. This is the same guy who just now signed up on FB and doesn’t understand the reason why no one is talking to him on his account after I logged off his account and into mine…MEN…totally clueless at times! I wish my kids could have fun like yours again!

Hilarious. You have quite a way of telling a story! That waterfall had to have been amazing. In the end, it’s all about the memories the kids will have for the rest of their lives and I have a feeling that’s one of them!